


Who Likes Short Shorts? Cas Likes Short Shorts

by rosie_berber



Series: I'm Like Oscar the Grouch. I Live in a Trash Can. [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bunker Sex, Car Sex, Dean in Shorts, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Short Shorts, Smut, Total Destiel Trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7653916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_berber/pseuds/rosie_berber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welp, guys, this is my life now, a purveyor of smut. As I previously mentioned, I didn't know I had a thing for men in short shorts until I saw Jensen's legs in short shorts. If you have somehow managed to deprive yourself of this beautiful, life-destroying image so far, <a href="http://rosie-berber.tumblr.com/post/148048273263/out-in-the-open-look-at-these-dorks-i-cant">go here and be ruined for life, like I am.</a></p><p>I wrote a previous fic about <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623466">why Dean might be wearing those short shorts.</a> I promised smut, and I am a woman who keeps my word. So here's two thousand words of Dean and Cas doing dirty things to one another. In cars. While listening to sexy disco tunes.</p><p>I am such utter trash for this ship. I hope I'm not alone?</p><p>I have a <a href="http://rosie-berber.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> and I don't know how to use it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Likes Short Shorts? Cas Likes Short Shorts

         It all started with the pizza man. But he was far from the last to elicit some very explicit desires. He felt it most pronounced in his human state - ‘Steve’ had needs that Castiel, as an angel, had managed to mostly hold at bay. But he found he could not control himself, night after night at the Gas N Sip, left alone with a computer and his own very confusing, seemingly random thoughts. It started with him typing “Dean Winchester” into a search engine. When that failed to produce the material he desired, he reluctantly got a bit more … general. _What do you like?_ one particularly tawdry website inquired. _Green eyes. Freckles. Plump lips. Bow legs._ His responses were met with another inquiry: _male or female?_ Castiel surprised himself with the speed at which he typed the four-letter response.

 

         The time was educational. He found he quite enjoyed scenarios with impersonations of doctors, firefighters, mechanics, police officers. On the other hand, whips and chains didn’t seem to do anything for him, but he reckoned that was due to his own extensive experience with the unsexy kind of discipline. He wasn’t even really looking for it when he saw it. A car wash. A hose. Water trickling down a bare chest, toward a garment that seemed to flood his senses, all at once. Three ferocious minutes later, breathless and seeing stars, one thing was very clear to Castiel.

 

         Short shorts were very much his thing.

 

xxxxx

 

         The few seconds Dean’s lips had pressed against Castiel’s had unleashed something within him - something primal, a force to be reckoned with. And so, as the hunter backed away, seemingly in disbelief at his action, Castiel took hold of that force and spoke. Now the four words seemed to be suspended in air, leaving him feeling like a cartoon character who has mistakenly put in a speech bubble what was supposed to remain in thought. He half expects himself to grasp at an arrangement of letters lingering over his head as they slowly make their way to Dean. _Do you want me_ , he had uttered, a question seven years in the making. A question he was resurrected for, a question he finally worked up the nerve to ask. A question that Dean answered with the return of full lips crashing back into his own.

 

         This time, when he pulled back, he did not run.

 

xxxxx

 

_♫ Heaven knows I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love ♫_

 

         Dean takes Castiel’s face into his hands, running his fingers softly over the protrusions of his cheekbones, marveling at each new sensation passing through his fingertips. The roughness of his stubble, the sharp edges of his face, the breath exhaled through the other man’s nostrils that lands on his own upper lip. Each part of Castiel’s face that had been a temptation, fought off for years, happily ceded to in this moment. He once again lowers himself on Castiel’s lap, reveling at the warm hardness he feels pressed under his thigh, finding himself hypnotically rocking his hips to the soundtrack overhead.

  


_♫ More, more, more. How do you like it? How do you like it? ♫_  


         All of the fantasies Castiel had engineered about what Dean’s lips would feel like when he kissed proved to be woefully inadequate. The intoxicating mix of pressure and suction. The delicious way he drags his teeth across Castiel’s bottom lip. The breathy moans that seem to send shocks down his spine. And when Dean’s hips begin to rock into his own, his stiffness pushing into Castiel’s belly? Castiel suddenly _knows_ , physically _knows_ why this is the thing that consumes human thoughts. Now he’s trash for it too. His palms run over the alluring definition of his shoulders; his fingers slide down Dean’s sides, relishing the shudder it elicits. _It should be enough._ He should want to take it slow, cherish every kiss, should want to whisper sweet nothings into Dean’s ear. He has been in love with this man from the moment he first laid a hand upon him. _To kiss him, to hold him, it should be enough._ But it’s not. He wants _more._ And so Castiel drags his nails to where denim meets skin, his hands ducking underneath, palming Dean’s ass and lifting.

 

_♫ I know, I know, I know, I know, I know I want you ♫_

 

         He carries the other man, clearly shocked by the position he is suddenly finding himself in, to the still sudsy car, now neglected. Dean’s back crashes into the steel of the front passenger door, Castiel’s mouth diving towards his neck while his hand fumbles to gain entry to the back. He is merciless, each groan he coaxes from Dean’s lips pushing him harder. Finally he hears the click and opens the door with such force he fears he might rip it right off the hinges, again lifting Dean, reverently laying him down on the back bench.

 

         It is not until has got Dean situated right where he wants him that he meets his glance. If Castiel had any doubts he was moving too quickly, Dean’s eyes quickly convince him otherwise, their luscious green flooded by pools of black. Like a man possessed, Castiel rushes back to the spot on his neck that has Dean filling the car with debaucherous sounds and his hands desperately clutching for something to hold onto. He begins to explore the skin beneath the damp black tee, letting his hand roam free across Dean’s torso. His lips depart from the other man’s neck, maroon and purple hues breaking through the skin, moving their way up to his ear. He takes one lobe in his mouth, biting it tenderly.

 

         “Cas, can I take this off?” Dean asks, his fingers already pulling at the hem of his t-shirt.

 

         “Yes please,” replies the angel, who, despite being engorged with lust still finds his manners fully intact.

 

         With a whole new expanse of skin now at his disposal, Castiel begins to nip and nibble his way down Dean’s firm chest and abs, every bit the heaven he expected and then some. Parts of his body that have been torn and repaired for this very purpose, for Castiel to be able to lavish his love upon them. His eyes turn upward, delighting in the flush overtaking Dean’s cheeks, the perceptible tremble of his quaking lips. It fills Castiel with the confidence to press on, his teeth finding themselves around the button of the shorts, unfastening them with precision. He makes sure to lock Dean’s gaze with his own as he bites down on the metal zipper, pulling it to its base.

 

         “Holy. Fuck. Cas.” Dean mumbles in disbelief, mesmerized by the debased action.

 

         He quickly wiggles his eyebrows back up towards the hunter before tugging at the shorts, only far enough down to be able to free Dean from their prison.

 

         “You are not wearing any underwear,” Castiel notes deadpan, his tendency for stating the obvious rearing its ugly head.

 

         “You cut these so short I _couldn’t_ wear any,” Dean responds in the least convincing protest of all time.

 

         Castiel apologizes by taking Dean’s length fully into his mouth, filled with accomplishment each time his lips manage to make it to the base, pressing themselves against the rough denim. He swallows the shaft over and over, his tongue licking wild stripes up its side. When he looks up, he sees Dean’s eyes shut tightly, hand wrapped around the driver’s headrest, nobly trying to steady himself, to try to prevent himself from devolving into a total mess. That only makes Castiel plunge deeper, faster, slurping at the synthesis of saliva and precome that now finds itself coating Dean’s throbbing cock. The rhythm of his bobs match the movement of Dean’s muscles, his stomach tensing and relaxing in sync.

 

         “So good Cas, feels so fucking good,” Dean groans, thrusting slightly deeper into Castiel’s mouth.

 

         It is meant as a compliment, as encouragement, but Castiel takes it as an invitation. _For more. We could do more. Life’s too short for missed chances,_ he reminds himself. He halts his proceedings, much to Dean’s dismay.

 

         “I know one thing that might feel even better…” Castiel offers. He isn’t sure what to expect. Will Dean rebuff him? Will he be too scared to proceed forward? Will he be offended? Will he be too shy? Will he quickly fashion a banishing sigil on the window of the car and send him far, far away? It turns out, none of these things - Dean’s answer is far, far better.

 

         “What we need is under the driver’s seat of the Impala,” Dean asserts calmly, no degree of uncertainty in his pants. Castiel is there and back so quickly Dean is half convinced he’s got his teleporting mojo back intact.

 

_♫ They all should let us be, we belong to you and me. ♫_

 

         Castiel quickly drops the items to the floor of the car, crashing back into Dean with a deep kiss, his tongue diving deep into the other man’s mouth. When he allows Dean to take a breath, the hunter takes advantage, informing Cas that he’d _need less clothes for this_ . The angel strips with such urgency one would think his clothes were contaminated with some sort of biohazard. Dean laughs softly as he slowly starts to snake down the shorts. Castiel’s hand quickly grabs the hunter’s, pleading with him to _keep them on._

 

         Flustered by the request, by the speed at which he's checking things off his bucket list, all Dean can manage to do is nod. Castiel reclines along the leather bench, hooking his ankles around Dean’s thighs, making his desires abundantly clear to the other man. Dean lathers his fingers in a liberal amount of lubricant, allowing his hand to work its way underneath the angel. Tentatively, he begins to press gently against the tight ring, encouraged by the filthy, filthy poetry that falls from Castiel’s lips. The two have moved to this point with wild, delirious energy, but this  - this Dean does not want to rush. He slowly pushes in further and further while pumping Castiel’s cock in his other hand, quickly finding a rhythm that seems to be working. He finds himself unexpectedly, utterly devoured by the way in which Castiel is squirming and grinding with his movements, encouraging him to endeavour another finger, and then soon after, a third.

 

         “Now, Dean, I need you now. Please,” Castiel pants, less a request than a demand.

 

         Dean unwraps the condom, sliding it down his still erect cock. He is ready to line himself up when Castiel abruptly shoots up, redirecting his body to sit, quickly making his way to straddle the hunter. Slowly, he lowers himself onto Dean. He places both hands firmly on Dean’s chest, taking in inch by glorious inch until he bottoms out. He stays in that position just long enough for an admission.

 

         “You have no idea how long I have wanted this,” Castiel whimpers.

         “I had no idea how long _I wanted this_ ,” Dean murmurs back.

 

         Castiel slowly begins to rock himself up and down on Dean, sinking onto the fullness over and over again. The hunter rests one hand on the small of the angel’s back, the other wrapped firmly around his cock, pressed between their bellies, gripping it tightly as their bodies move as one. When Castiel has settled at just the right angle, where Dean is hitting him with a shock of blinding pleasure with every movement, he allows the other man to take over, who thrusts quickly, deeply into him, entranced by the blissful sensation. Castiel bites into Dean’s shoulder, into that space of his skin where their bond was first forged, writhing in ecstasy as his orgasm unleashes itself. As soon the warmth of Castiel’s release hits his stomach, Dean succumbs, the pleasure cascading over him.

 

xxxxx

  
         If there is one thing Castiel now knows for sure it’s this: the Pizza Man’s got nothing on Dean Winchester.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, disco songs are the smuuuuuuuuuuuttttiest. The ones featured in this fic are "I Feel Love" by Donna Summer, "More, More, More" by Andrea True Connection, "I'm So Excited" by the Pointer Sisters and, of course, "How Deep is Your Love?" by the Bee Gees. All A+ boner jams, in my opinion.


End file.
